


Pull of the Light | Taste of the Dark

by aidan_bae



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Jedi: Fallen Order (Video Game)
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, F/M, Inquisitor Cal Kestis, Non-Consensual Kissing, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Public Masturbation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:28:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25518061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aidan_bae/pseuds/aidan_bae
Summary: Cal takes a liking to his new apprentice
Relationships: Cal Kestis/Reader
Comments: 8
Kudos: 87





	Pull of the Light | Taste of the Dark

When the Second Sister first tells him the news, Cal doesn’t believe her.

He tells himself it’s a lie, a false truth to test his reactions and then probe him about it later. So he stays silent. His helmet forward and mental shields up to hide any unsatisfactory reactions. This is usually the correct answer. Stay silent, don’t react and you will be rewarded. He understands Trillas little games like the back of his hand. But then she keeps talking.

Relaying intel that is far too detailed to simply be part of a ruse. Names, places,and locations flowing out of her mouth with that air of confidence that only came with telling the truth. And Cal pauses. Pokes and prods her words apart like a scrapper. This is a test, right? There’s no way this isn’t a test. It couldn’t be. The Empire has had him in submission for two years now. He hasn’t needed reconditioning in thirteen months. To give him an apprentice would be-

“-a test of loyalty,” Trilla tells him as he stands outside your medic room. A big screen mirror exposing them to your cell. And for once, he’s glad for the helmet they force him to don on. Even though his shields are up, the surprise is clear on his face. The Empire putting faith in him is a feat. Another step for him to rise up the ranks.

Trilla doesn’t expand on this though, her helmet still facing forward and gaze stuck on the body on the other side of the mirror. And Cal reminds himself to pay attention to the mission at hand. ‘We found her hiding in the swamps of Kashyyyk,” she continues. “It’s plausible that she’s been on-planet for years.” Which Cal believes wholeheartedly.

From behind the glass, you look—feral. That is the best way to describe you as you thrash around on your medic bed. Wild and unhinged; the force blocking chains wrapped around your ankle doing nothing to deter you as you try to rip out the holdings. Which is an admirable attempt. Yet without the force you’re feeble and weak. And the second sister must be reading him cause she tsk in disapproval.

“Do not be quick to judge brother,” She demands. Her disciplinary tone seeping into his bones and making his back straighten. “She holds a rather high value to the Empire,”

And he tries not to scoff, valuable? Sure. One Jedi found after seven months of recon is definitely-

“-Or do you hold a lower opinion regarding the location on five force sensitives,” she continues. Pleasure now laced in her voice. And once again he’s glad for the helmet. Because she’s wrong. She has to be. The news rockets through his body like a tremor. He refuses to believe it. Cause five? Five force sensitives? Alive and well? Just huddled together on a planet? No. That's—That’s impossible. He needs to ̶k̶i̶l̶l̶ ̶h̶e̶r̶,̶ ̶k̶i̶l̶l̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶,̶ ̶p̶r̶o̶t̶e̶c̶t̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶n̶g̶l̶i̶n̶g̶s̶,̶ ̶p̶r̶o̶t̶e̶c̶t̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶ get the information out of you as quickly as possible. Lord Vader always liked to kill two birds with one stone. Valuable information and an extra inquisitor all from one mission is a rare opportunity. And its honor to be given the opportunity to be the one who turns you.

“I’ll break her swiftly,” he confirms. No room for fear in his voice.

A sense of satisfaction bleeding through Trillas force shields as she permits a growl to be heard from her helmet. Boredom on the subject gone.

“Yes, you will,”

\-----

Defense, Offense, and Mental: these are the things he breaks into you quickly. A set drill to help your muscles grow and your mind to be ready for the chair. He needs to make sure that the intel you give them will be accurate. From experience he knows that apprentices will say anything to not get their brain fried. And to be honest the process is time consuming, physically draining and utterly boring or else it would be if you weren’t so kriffin’ loud about it all.

So other than the obvious dislike you have for him. This is the first thing he notices about you. You never open your mouth but he can feel everything you want to say. Your hatred for him bursting into the force. Which is not surprising. After the paperwork and minor technicalities were filed the moment you met him face to face you greeted him with a spit to the helmet and a “Traitor scum,” for good measure. The words all dirty and foul like something that belonged more to the Outer-Rim. It made the stormtroopers around you pause. Fear pouring off of them in waves.

He took a minute, cocked his head. “Funny,” he said simply. “I think the same about you,” Before using the force and backhanding you into the wall. Apprentice or not insolence will not be tolerated. Especially from the likes of Jedi scum. He can still see bruises forming on your jaw. A gnarly ugly thing that makes something in him turn over.

̶I̶t̶ ̶l̶o̶o̶k̶s̶ ̶g̶o̶o̶d̶ ̶o̶n̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶.̶

And you don’t fight him again but you’re very loud about your disgust regarding everything going on. During sparring he feels your thoughts. Rants and rampages about how you want to make him burn before he knocks you on your ass.

During meditation it's about how you want to make him bleed and rip him apart until even his pieces were in pieces. Yet, despite the brutality of it all it’s almost cute in a way to feel you think so freely. In a place like Nur where thoughts and feelings were either burnt out of you during training or you built impenetrable walls to prevent them from even being sensed, free thinking is dangerous.

Cal himself can’t even remember the last time he dropped his mental shields for someone. And yet here you are, open and bold about it. He didn’t even know a Jedi could be capable of such nakedness much less hatred. And quickly he understands again why the Emperor wants you as an Inquisitor. It's like gazing into a mirror, he sees himself staring back at him. Why you consider yourself a jedi, he does not understand.

\------

“Your helmet is the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen,” is the first non-threatening thing you say to him as they spar across the floor. Its a stupid insult but it still shocks him a bit; makes him weaken his stance just long enough to have you attempt a offensive attack. Putting heavy emphasis on attempt.

He has you on defense again before you can blink. Your sabers colliding in sparks of energy before they clash in a classic form V. Stubbornness paints your features and around him your force signature chokes up the room like a physical thing. It distracts him, but it's nothing close to how open you were before. Not when you figured out how easy it is to fall on your ass when the opponent can read your mind. Cal notes this as a positive, the five weekmark of training already revealing progress. Cal has no doubt that you’ll survive the chair gracefully.

Surprisingly, you're efficient, strong, and only sometimes now does Cal feel glimpses of your anger poking through the force. Strong irritation that ignites his bones but doesn’t burn him. Which is disappointing to be honest. But progress is progress. Getting close to you, Cal switches to offense.

“Insults won't stop me from winning apprentice,” Arrogance dances over your features. But you don’t have time to reply to this before he's jamming his elbow into your solar plexus and calling draw.

\------

You test his patience during a loyalty exercise. Nine weeks have passed and you refuse to kill one of the failed inquisitors in training. A damaged force sensitive whose mind broke from a conditioning session. You just stand there, your palms shaking as it grips the lightsaber. And the urge to save the weakling rocketing through the force.

It's so pitiful that he even tries to help. Wrapping his hands around your grip, and making you press the saber against the weakling's throat. The infrared heat from the saber so close to its skin that he can see their facial hairs burn. And there isn’t much room in the cramped jail cell, so he finds the space to press his chest against your back. A poor attempt at getting a better view of the show. But worth it.

From behind you, he can feel your heartbeat. Quick and panicky beats that feel more bird-like than human. And if he wanted to be blunt he would say it's a pathetic sight that embarrasses him more than it's embarrassing you. This resistance is unbecoming of you. What happened to the girl that tried to rip a trooper in half a week ago?

He'd much rather feel your wrath again.

That pure unaltered rage that sinks into the force and makes his body shake. Yeah, he licks his lips. That sounds wonderful. But instead you just look spineless like the weakling before you. The anger that normally bounces off of you now subdued. Fear now in its place. Sighing, he presses against you a little more, the softness of your hair brushing against the skin of his cheek while h- “Kark!”

Lurching back, Cal falls to his knees. Nose bleeding profusely as you smash your head against it. And kark you’re fast like a viper, he barely has time to react before you’re ramming the butt of your lightsaber into his throat and taking off.

\----

Now, Cal isn’t going to lie. He’s not a prideful person. He’s efficient, yes, has confidence in his abilities and likes to focus on the mission more than any other inquisitor. But force he has to pat himself on the back for this one—it’s almost embarrassing how fast it takes to catch you.

Because one minute he’s on the floor of the cell, bleeding and trying to get a grip on the effects of his brain ramming against your skull. And next thing he knows you’re below him on your knees. Your face covered in blood from the clones you managed to slaughter in a short period of time while his lightsaber presses against your throat.

And he expects begging, maybe even sobbing but when have you ever gone with his expectations? Instead you glare up at him with those wide eyes of yours. All big and feral, the familiar presence of your rage making you shake. “Kill me now,” you demand. Your words slightly slurred from the blood that covered your teeth.

“Just do it, you can’t make me turn dark side inquisitor, i’d rip you apart first, i’ll-” he slaps you before you can even finish. Your face lurching back before he grabs you by the throat and makes you look him in the eye.

“Yeah I don’t remember asking, sweetheart” You begin to shake harder, he can practically feel your mental shields cracking. Cal just puts it off as fear before he grips you harder.

“And if you ever do that again,” he brings you closer, his helmet pressing against your forehead.

“I’m going to break your pretty little neck”

You stay silent at this, your eyes staring at him wild and feral again. And Cal doesn’t realize how loud he’s breathing at the sight until it gets too silent and the only thing he can feel in the force is your anger simmering under the surface. He sighs at this, a thought coming to his mind as he begins to casually take out the force blocking cuffs.

“You know i didn’t know you had it in you,”

“Abandoning your friend all alone in a jail cell with me, how cruel” he teases. But you give a look of faux confusion. Your anger is still there but now conjoined with the gleeful emotion of someone not about to get their neck snapped.

“Did you seriously not figure it out yet?,”

“Tell me, where are we and where is he right now?” And for a split second he’s again happy for the helmet. The confusion is clear on his face, probably even in the force. Before it hits him like a freight train and oh-

Oh.

And force its so fucking corny. But it's like a light switch. Thoughts of you being weak and stupid turns into strong and useful. Realization of what you’re trying to say striking through the air like a missile. He should be angry, he should be raging and ripping you apart like paper for playing him. But he opens his mouth, and he’s blasted with it. This feeling of being pulled apart at the seams. As you let your mental shields down. While you wear this look on your face. The type that doesn't belong to someone who claims to be a jedi.

And it’s like a religious experience, happens for a split second. Gone so fast that he wondered if it was real when you compose yourself again. And when this is over he’ll wonder if he imagined it, if this is another delusion.But his mind is filled with violent thoughts of mayhem and death, he can’t be imagining this.

And kark he should make you stop. The inability to separate his thoughts from your own making his brain feel ̶g̶o̶o̶d̶ like it's splitting. He should threaten to kill you again. Maybe add in torture for the dramatics. But now he thinks you'd probably enjoy that. And in the deepest parts of him he now knows that you’ll never bend to him like that. Not when you have this much emotion locked in you. Not when he feels you in the force bringing him in. And force you feel..you feel

‘You feel good,’ he thinks, the thought rocketing through the force like an energy blast. And kark he should.....he should comm security, warn them about the possible force sensitive escape. But you're looking at him, like that. Like you want to eat him alive too. And he’d much rather throw you to the ground instead; embed his teeth into the flesh of your skin and make you scream. That’s the only way you're going to listen he realizes. Like it’s a fact, an undeniable truth.

Hypnotized, your force signature entices him forward, makes him want to dig a place for himself inside of you and never leave. And the very thought scares him. Snaps him out of this reverie, long enough to see the look of confusion that’s painting your face.

He's knocking you out before you can get a single word in.

\----------

After this revelation Cal begins to project into your cell at night. Watching over you to the sound of your soft breathing. He tells himself that it’s because you’re smart and he can’t give you the chance to pull another stunt like that again. But then you'll turn and he'll catch a glimpse of the soft swell of your breast or the rise and fall of your chest. And kark. You don’t only just feel good huh?

\----------

Of course, you aren’t very happy about being captured again.

You’re even angrier after Cal kills the weakling in front of you as punishment. The smell of his burnt flesh making you choke up and scream. He holds no sympathy for you though. You must suffer the consequences of your actions. Your plan to escape long enough to get the weakling a chance to leave obviously backfiring. So of course you begin to rebel. And Cal is so used to the violent jestering and brutal ways of the Empire that he does not notice your soft defiance. Your subtle acts of rebellion that even the conditioning sessions can’t seem to wipe out of you.

Taking his orders too literally, not acting on orders fast enough, letting him beat you in a spar. It's kriffing irritating and he makes sure to show you your place if there's a superior around. But when you’re alone he indulges in it. It's cute how much you’ve lowered yourself to attempt to anger him. Something in him says that if you were any other trainee he would’ve killed you by now. He doesn’t ponder on it. Instead he burns the thought to the ground.

\---------

Now touching isn't something he enjoys. And touching another member of the order unless necessary is scandalous. But yet—in the dead of night he finds himself wanting to do the unthinkable. Innocent fantasies plaguing his mind during his weakest moments. His training to take power in his passions going against the urge to not be considered defected. But he can’t stop thinking about it. It;s almost impossible not to.

He imagines grazing his hands against your knuckles, his shoulder brushing up against yours, he imagines gripping the bare skin of your waist before he slams into the ground during sparring. He wants to encompass you. Completely engulf you until not an inch of your mind was a stranger to him. And of course at first he keeps these thoughts to himself. He keeps them buried into the depths of his mind, only allowing it freedom when you're asleep and he's projecting into your quarters.

But kark, it's like falling into a pit. He just can’t stop himself. Weeks pass and fantasies of you two sparring with touches that linger a little bit too long turns into him openly imagining what that sweet spot between your legs tastes like. Or the softness of your flesh as he straddles your hips. He imagines you waking up in the middle of it, your eyes now with soft specks of gold since your escape gazing up at him in shock. He thinks you'll scream. Maybe even alert the guards but instead you sigh his name. His real name, all smooth and soft before grinding your hips up against his cock. He imagines doing a lot of things to you. And if he finds his hands around himself afterwards, that's just a coincidence.

\----

It all comes together during your second escape. Four months of training had passed and he was foolish enough to believe that Conditioning had softened you down even a little bit. His foolish desire to break you into the perfect inquisitor blinding his senses.

And he wants to bash himself for being so stupid, so inane and gullible. But he can’t, not when your act was just so believable.

You’re more complicit to his demands. Your defiance is at a minimum and you even call him Master Kestis. The last one being the reason for why he gets riskier with pleasuring himself in your quarters at night. Master Kestis. Master Kestis. Master karking Kestis. fuck.

That should’ve been the first sign.

But he doesn’t pay attention to that though. Instead he focuses on something more pressing. Like how it’s been four months and you still haven't revealed the location of those blasted force sensitives. Not like he noticed. He’s too busy training you to be great. Too busy making you better, faster, greater. But the timer still ticks in the back of his mind. The countdown to punishment if you dont at least give up something.

It's the only reason he’s even near you after all. The only reason for why he was training you. And he knows that if he gives the Second Sister another negative update again, they’ll take you away from him. They’ll take you away and give you to another Master. Some other Inquisitor that won’t know the difference between breaking you and burning you into a shell like the rest of them. And he can’t let that happen, he won't.

And because he’s a good Master, he even promises himself to tell you. He prepares to beat you to a bloody pulp and explain to you why it’s for the greater good if it means that you’ll finally talk. It was going to be a nice bonding moment and everything. Full of him putting bacta cream on your wounds afterwards and telling you the weak points you needed to work on.

But then you escape. Again.

Somehow manipulating a clone to release you from your quarters on the one night he doesn’t come to you. And this time he doesn’t think it’s a ruse. He’s already in his uniform, lightsaber strapped to his waist the moment his comm rings for the breakout.

And it’s crazy really, he should feel betrayed. The urge to have your head on his saber as strong as the hurt running through his blood. He thought you two were beyond this after all. Just look at how close you two have been recently. But that feeling doesn’t come. Instead wrathful regret takes its place. Anger thrumming in his veins as he darts down the hallways. He’s obviously been too lenient on you, letting his fondness blind him and now you’ve left him and—no that’s not quite right. You’re trying to leave him.

.

And you will not succeed.

Not after everything he’s done for you. Not after all the risk he's taken. No, you're not going anywhere until he's done molding you. Until he has you exactly where you need to be. The force demands it.

And despite the fact that he’s five minutes behind and the grogginess of sleep still clings to him. It's not very hard to follow your trail. The bodies from your rampage littering the corridor like a guide, he can even still feel you in the air. Your essence drawing him in like the sweetest perfume. And to be honest, it’s all too easy, too predictable. And if Cal didn’t know any better he would say that you wanted him to find you.

The very thought makes his mind spiral as he makes another sharp turn down the corridor, his lungs screaming but your energy trail getting stronger and-

“This cat and mouse game is getting sickening, Jedi.” he says. His eyes setting sights on you just in time to watch you break a clone's neck.

“And you’re pissing me off,” you bark back, but there's fear in your voice. even from a few feet away Cal can see the way your hands shake. Your feet slowly backing away from him. The force surrounding the two of you so thick it's almost a physical thing.

From above the two of you the hallway lights flicker, red and white illumination making everything more eerie than necessary. It makes you look ethereal. The evidence of what it took to get here covering your face in scratches and bruises. And Cal can’t help but think that you look like a goddess. The ones that were vengeful and wicked but hid it behind a pretty smile. The kind he would see in paintings and statues of the villages he raided.

In all honesty the thought makes him take a step forward. ̶ ̶E̶t̶h̶e̶r̶e̶a̶l̶.̶ ̶B̶e̶a̶u̶t̶i̶f̶u̶l̶.̶ ̶E̶x̶q̶u̶i̶s̶i̶t̶e̶.̶ ̶ He doesn’t notice that he’s prowling towards you until you book it. And well, Cal might be getting tired of chasing you but it doesn’t make it any less fun.

Right, left, sharp turns and harsh breathing. You try to rip him off your trail but Cal is nipping at your heels. Close enough to graze his fingers against your uniform before he uses the force and slams you against the wall. Your back ramming against the surface with a crunch.

And the sound of it makes him cringe but at least you stopped moving. Your body giving violent twitches as you moan in pain. Before slowly you begin to drag your upper body up. Scrapping your nails against the floor to try and get away. It’s a pitiful sight that disgust him to revulsion until Cal uses his anger to slam a harsh kick into your ribs.

“Stand down, Jedi” he snarls, rough and ugly. Before you begin to try and get back into position anyway. And Cal just gives a sigh of disappointment. “Get up again, I dare you,” You don’t.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, voice modulated by the helmet before he slams his foot onto your ribs again. You actually scream this time.

And it's a shame really, he didn’t expect this to be so anticlimactic. How disappointing, he quite enjoys chasing you. He wants you to fight harder, he knows you’re capable of it. In his mind's eye he even imagines you crying a little harder, your skin a bit more flushed. That beautiful anger he knows you wear so well burning in the force. But he can’t complain. Defeat looks beautiful on you.

“You’re making this too easy, Jedi,”

Which is true, he expected more of a fight. But this escape has taught him a lesson. After this is over with, you’re going straight to the chair. Incompetence will not be tolerated. Casually, he takes out his cuffs prepared to take you to the chair. A sense of deja vu running through the force. But you get up faster than he expects. Blood now freely flowing from the back of your head before you’re wiping it off with the back of your hand.

“Define easy, Master.” you snarl back.

And then the ground meets his head with a thud and sithhells if he weren’t so shocked he’d be proud. You’ve obviously been holding out on him during sparring. Shaking his head, he watched your figure get away again as his body struggles to get back up. His feet not working according to his brain for two seconds too long. And god, he hasn’t felt like this in so long. This inability to bend his body to his mind’s will. It makes him feel like a padawan again: too young, too weak, and too incompetent to do anything without assistance. Too weak to protect Master Tapal and now too weak to protect you.

Because that's what he’s doing isn’t it?

Protecting you from yourself? From your own foolish decisions?

Without him you’ll escape, you’ll waste your talents on some disgusting trash dump of a planet where you’ll get trained by another master. Another teacher that won't know how to mold you like he does. Screaming, he slams his fist into the ground. He refuses to make the same mistakes again. He wasn’t strong enough to keep Tapal. He’ll be strong enough to keep you. He’s on his feet in seconds.

His breath is ragged and his lungs hurt but despite his slow start you’re still close by and It takes two minutes too long but he finds you in a duel with a security droid. Right at the entrance of the escape pods.

Your back to him as you fight between destroying the droid and closing the escape pod doors. And for the first time since he's met you, fear rolls off you in waves. He can feel the trepidation in your mind even while gore drips off your clothing. Before your fist jams through the droids chest.

The sight very making his heart stutter. You’d look even more gorgeous with a red saber in your hand. And it’s almost like you hear him because you freeze. Your hand frozen time even while inside the bot's sternum.

And in the force he feels your tremors as he begins to slowly stalk towards your figure “You’re breaking my heart Jedi,”

“Keep running and I'm going to think that you don’t like me back,”

“Don’t insult me,” you charge back. But force—you’re trembling.

And a part of him wants to drag you to him. He wants to watch you sniffle and hold back tears as you beg him for mercy. But that’s boring, especially when he predicts that you'll be doing that on your own very soon. Breathing heavy, he watches you turn towards him.

The alarm bells above flashing an iridescent glow of red over your face. Unabashedly exposing the way your pupils are blown out from the adrenaline. And kark, you look dangerous yet again; like something out of a nightmare. It makes something in him want to crawl into you, force a bond in your mind and dig himself inside.

“They’re going to kill you for letting me escape you know,” you try to reason, your voice cracking as you try to back away further into the escape pod. “The force has already sealed your fate Kestis so just let me go,”

And oh— you must’ve taken more hits than he thought because ‘let you go?’ Let you waste your potential? Let you go back into the galaxy that chewed him up and spat him out like dirt? Never. Annoyed, Cal roll his eyes at the idiotic demand and ignites his lightsaber.

“Now you’re the one being insulting Jedi,” And he expects you to try to negotiate. To use those pretty words that get the Jedi out of every situation. But he forgets one key piece of information.

You speak the language of violence better.

In the blink of an eye you’re in front of him. Your lightsaber striking dangerously close to his neck, making a crack in his visor. Panicked, he uses the force and slams you into the escape pods controls. You recover quickly, from behind him the doors slide close. The life pod now encased in darkness other than the stripes of redlight that beam from above. A good avantage if his damaged helmet wasn’t flickering in and out of power.

“Come on, this is expensive,” he fake whines.

But you just laugh. All broken and choked up. “Always wanted to do that,” you then breathe out, voice raspy. “Ugliest sithshit i’ve ever seen,” Before aiming a kick at his ribs that he barely dodges. Frazzled, he tries to take notice of the interior through the dying helmet. The escape pod is small. Four by four feet ship, two pilot seats near the front, cots on each side. A red glare shining on the both of you from above. This is going to be difficult. Taking a dodge in the dark, he uses the force and dodges a heavy hitting punch to the face.

“I,”

“You mean it?” he ask, face serious before he punches you in the nose. A smirk breaks on his face. Pride clouds his mind just enough for him to not notice when you stride closer to him on impact. He goes for another strike but this time you duck easily. Using your shorter stature to your advantage before you knock the air out of his lungs with a punch to his solar plexus. It takes everything in him to not clench his chest. In front of him you laugh.

“Consider that pay back for the first time,”

“Look at that,” he groans. Dodging a kick to his ribs just to grab your calf and throw you on the floor. “Learning from me already,”

You’re on top of him now. The lamps from above beaming a stroke of red light onto his face. You rip off his helmet. And Cal has to get used to it. The switch from looking through his visor and the non modulated way his voice sounds to something a little bit m-

“C-Cal?” You look like he punched you in the face, again. His name flowing from your lips too easily. ̶ ̶I̶t̶ ̶s̶o̶u̶n̶d̶s̶ ̶f̶a̶m̶i̶l̶i̶a̶r̶.̶ ̶ He’s never seen you look so shocked before. Blood draining from your face. And you move to say something else but Cal is already moving. Reversing roles, before you can even blink.

Below him you still look dazed, a dash of disbelief on your face. Before you start to struggle again. Violently attempting to get out of his grip. But not attempting to lay any punches on him unless he strikes first. The anger that flowed so easily out of you earlier, now replaced with something else. Something so heart wrenching and foul that to feel it in the force would be to feel like you’re getting ripped apart at the seams.

You feel like you’re in despair.

That feeling of immense suffering striking through his mind like an energy blast. Yet you still want to hurt something. He can feel it, taste it. But it’s not directed at him. And if that sparks a flare of jealousy he refuses to think about why. Mostly, because you're saying things now. Weird things that make his head hurt.

“You’re supposed to be dead,” you choke out as he tries to push your shoulders down. Your hands grappling at his clothes while you stare in disbelief.

“I hope that's not a deal breaker,” he teases.

And his response must piss you off more because you’re on him again. Your knuckles landing a solid hit at his jaw before everything becomes a blur of scratches and brutal attempts at getting the high ground. And oh does he love it. The way you fight is dirty and without honor. To think that you would give this up to be some scum ridden Jedi is disgusting.

Do you really think a Jedi master would approve of you like this? Rage floods through his veins at the thought. And angered he rips you away, knocks you back to the ground and forces your hands above your head. Gasping for breath you try to force pull his lightsaber out of his hand but he jerks you back down. You scoot away and he follows you, you try to sit up and he headbutts you back into your place.

And despite his high ground you look far too gone to stop fighting against him. Your bloody fist beating helplessly against his breastplate. And if you were to ask him, it’s all very cute. The skin of your knuckles splitting on impact while he barely flinches. Screaming curses at him so loud he’s surprised no ones heard the two of you yet.

And in the back of his mind he realises that he likes you like this. Focused on him and too out of control to pay attention to anything else. You don't even seem to be trying to escape anymore. You just want to hurt him. And Cal’s familiar with that. He understands this feeling like he's familiar with breathing.

And it must be the stale recycled air getting to his head it has to be because suddenly he’s right in your face. One hand forcing your wrists together and the other wrapped around your jaw. From this closeness he can feel your breath against his skin.The force around you shuttering and spiking with energy as you look at him all wide eyed and skin flushed. And oh- yes it's definitely like falling. He’s on you before he can even contemplate it.

Pushing you on your back, Cal clashes his lips against yours greedily. And force, it feels like he's drowning, overflowing, dying even. The taste of you lighting his mind up like an open wire. Everything he wanted to say to you, wanted to communicate to you crashing forward in the form of his teeth grazing against your lips.

Below him you grapple for his tunic; to bring him closer or farther away he doesn't know. He doesn't care. All he cares about is how soft your lips are before they part like the Mensa river. Accidental maybe but just enough for him to slip his tongue inside. Yet the idea of you giving into him, makes him groan. Pushing you further into the ground, you whine as he nips your lips a little too hard. The taste of something metallic and sweet overcharging his senses.

And something tells him he should stop, calm down, take a breather, his face must be blue from the lack of oxygen. But logic doesn’t stomp the desire to shift closer to you. To make you bend to his desires and kiss him back. And pressing his chest against yours, he tries to tell you this. Reaches into the cavities of your mind, breaks down your shields and makes you feel him. To feel what he’s giving you. He senses you cringe by the intensity of it. And you rip away before he can stop you.

“Still trying to run away from me,” He rasp, pulling himself further into you. In the back of his mind he recognizes your rambling. He recognizes the multiple energy forces outside of the room. But he doesn’t care, he just doesn’t. You were right earlier. They're going to kill him anyway.

And he must’ve not done something right because you’re under him babbling about nonsense he can't understand. You’re talking about him being dead. Asking where he’s been all this time. ‘What did they do to you?’ you say. But he can’t focus. Too busy using the force to grapple at your body. He wants to feel you everywhere. He wants to taste you everywhere. Sithhells, He wants the feel of you to linger on his skin.

The idea drives him a little wild. And then he’s kissing you again. Uncoordinated, sloppy and kark, he’s a fool. He's an idiot who should kill you. He should just get up right here, right now and drag you to your quarters before begging the Grand Master for forgiveness. Maybe after the conditioning and reassignment he’ll find you again. Maybe he’ll get another chance like this again. You beneath him, and him taking care of you.

But that plan has two flaws. The Empire isn’t that forgiving and Cal isn’t known for his patience. Beneath him, he can feel your signature anger dance in the force. He feels the way it sings to him, reaches out to his own energy until he doesn't know where he starts and you end. It’s beautiful and-

He feels it before he sees it.

A pull in the force, prickly in the back of his mind and then heat. A blistering hell that could only be matched by the flares on Mustafar. Before Cal opens his eyes just enough to see the lightsaber inches away from his face.

And he freezes. Only allowing himself the privilege of flickering his eyes to yours. Your eyes which are a storming fury, pupils blown out to black.

A stretch of silence extends over the both of you. And Cal barely has time to at least wonder ‘why?’. Before slowly you lift your hand to complete the final blow a-

And then he strikes. Trying to avoid the striking zone of the saber and grab at your throat. Because kark, if he's going to die he wants to leave something of himself behind before it happens. A mark so that you’ll never forget him when this is over. But you’re smaller, lither, faster. And quickly the bright menacing glow of his saber is gone, and he's barely able to leave the smallest slash onto your cheek before a sharp pain echoes through his head.

And then nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> tell me what you think also don't worry the crazy red head isn't dead


End file.
